


Penny For Your Thoughts?

by MarcarellaPizza



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Light Angst, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Sad with a Happy Ending, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-16 19:35:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21041627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarcarellaPizza/pseuds/MarcarellaPizza
Summary: Really? Are my thoughts only worth so much to begin with?-----------------------------Alternatively; Viktor is late, Yuuri is lost, and together they both find their way.





	Penny For Your Thoughts?

**Author's Note:**

> My brain is tired so... have this little thing.
> 
> CONTENT WARNING:  
This fic does contain references to implied suicide, although nothing is explicitly said, there is a scene that suggests such things are happening.
> 
> If this makes you uncomfortable, please do not read - this is merely my mind venting in a... creative? way?
> 
> I'm trying to protect y'all so please look out for yourselves...
> 
> <3

Viktor knows Japan’s streets as well as he knows the earth — and for someone who’d never paid attention in geography, it’s quite astonishingly limited.

His arm is slung with a plastic bag; over the counter painkillers for his step brother, Yuri, back home. Why they’d decided to move to such a foreign place and erect their fashion industry here is still yet to be determined.

The night is well on its way by the time he  _ thinks _ he recognises the street. He doesn’t, his phone’s map kindly tells him, before flashing a concerned text from his younger brother.

He gives a quick reply, sighing as the last of the battery dries. He can only read the Hiragana characters and a few katakana symbols on the signs, which is almost useless when his knowledge of the language that surrounds him pretty much ends there.

God, it’s getting cold.

The street he turns down is devoid of any life, like a back alleyway except with unlit paper lanterns that would otherwise appear quite charismatic had they been left on. Viktor turns down the abandoned road and hopes he can recognise the street on the opposite end.

The wind screams as the trees shrivel.

Viktor continues to walk. He isn’t incredibly scared of the Japanese residents regardless of how much they were underestimated. Japan may be a safe place but there were still dangers — he’s merely thankful he’s taller and had the physique advantage over most.

You can see the moon where it’s perched up in the sky, unlike the smog coated cities that he’s used to. This part of Japan is mainly country, away from the busy lights of Tokyo; the perfect place to run his business from afar.

Viktor sighs as he continues onward, head peering towards the darkened houses in hopes that someone may catch his eye and help him out. It’s unlikely they speak English, forget Russian, but he thinks his Japanese is par conversational.

“Oh thank god.” He finally sighs, breath escaping as he eyes a stranger. Their silhouette masks their identity but Viktor can just make out the lithe shape of a young man, swaying at the edge of the road.  _ Probably drunk _ , Viktor thinks, biting his lip. There really aren’t any other choices.

Quickly, he speeds up his pace, trying to make his presence known to the other in order to not startle him. It would be unwise to seemingly appear before someone intoxicated.

The man doesn’t notice him however, and instead remains very still. It confuses Viktor for a moment, as he tries to decipher what’s happening. And then he hears it; giant sobs, trembling through the man, wheezing in gasps as if they were being suppressed.

It makes him second guess his decision to ask for directions. This person is clearly troubled and it makes him uncomfortable. Viktor has only a small handful of experiences with crying people, all namely Yuri when he’s frustrated. A stranger is not Yuri at all.

And then Viktor sees the flash of something bright, and his breath halts in his throat as his blood chills to the bone. The figure’s back is towards him, so he thankfully doesn’t notice Viktor, who screams internally for his body  _ to move. _

Perhaps this is what being paralysed with fear meant; when your brain lags and you stiffen because  _ you don’t know what to do _ . His brain hurries, urges him to make up his mind, but all Viktor  _ can _ do is watch and stare as the blade is raised up into the air.

_ Japan is dangerous _ . He realises, oh so much more dangerous than he gave credit for regardless of how aware he’d already been. Why had moving here been smart? Why had going out late at night been smart? Viktor was stronger than that man, but not his knife.

He still doesn’t move as the figure freezes, more sobs wracking from his trembling body. Oh lord, had he killed someone? Was this a murder right before his eyes? This person was not in a stable condition of mind, and Viktor had no experience in mental health.

He sort of feels as if Russia has come back to haunt him.

Suddenly there’s a louder sob, and words that Viktor distinctly recognises as “ _ Sumimasen” _ . It’s not an apology, it’s a pardon — as if this person feels he’s doing an inconvenience to his country.

Well, a murder  _ was _ inconvenient, but you’d think he’d feel sorry rather than guilty.

The blade glints against the reflection of the moon, clean, sterile and new. Whatever he’s about to kill, Viktor realises it hasn’t happened yet, and with the sudden urge to  _ fight, not flight _ , he steps forward, again and again until he’s running.

“HEY!” He shouts loudly, surprised no one hears his call. The person in the shadows go rigid, a tingle of clattering serenading his ears. The weapon is dropped, the shadows have moved, and Viktor is left to slow his running to a stop as he takes in the person’s appearance.

He’s no older than Viktor for sure, with the youth that his culture brings out, it’s applied ten fold across his exhausted face. Bags, purple and heavy under each eye, distorting the epicanthic fold of his Asian decent. The dark hair on his head compliments the vibrant brown eyes, mixing into the complexion of his light skin. 

Viktor swallows, steadying the plastic bag on his wrist as he gasps, gulping air as his mind races to think.

There’s no one else in the alleyway. There hadn’t been any scrambling when he’d approached either. This man, who fiddled with cracked glasses as he waits, had been  _ alone _ .

_ Oh. _

Viktor doesn’t know how to deal with such things, having been sheltered from most of it by his own country growing up; he reminds himself this as a main reason for having left Russia. Yuri knows more due to his vast experience with the online world, and Viktor only wishes Yuri were here now. 

“I’m…uh… um…” he tries to forget what could have happened before his own eyes, The young man staring, terrified at his presence. Viktor notices shoes on the ground, a letter tucked into the right one and neatly placed at a space beside him.

It’s just another reminder of what he could have witnessed.

“I need… a quarter.” He winces, feeling the palpitations return to his heart. The stranger’s expression shifts to surprise. There’s recognition in his face, as if he’d understood the question, and Viktor wonders if he’d just found one of the few people who he could actually communicate with.

“W-What?” The other whispers, confused. Viktor mentally slaps himself for being an idiot.

“A… a quarter? Oh shit you guys don’t have quarters…” he fumbles around with words as he tries to find the Japanese equivalent in his head.

“I don’t have any money if you’re trying to mug me for… 25 American cents?” He says feebly but his focus retains, “I’d appreciate if you left me now.”

“No!” Viktor rebuts, surprising even himself. He knows what will happen if he gives in. 

“No?” The japanese man repeats, a step taken back — a step closer towards the knife. “I told you, I don’t have—“

“A quarter, yes, I know.” Viktor breathes, fighting for time. “We— quarters can’t even be  _ used _ here!”

The Japanese boy sucks in a breath. Waiting, patiently, as if he weren’t just planning to  _ end his life  _ right then and there. Perhaps no one came because they knew of what was happening, they found it explainable. This was not seppuku, this was not  _ right _ and Viktor only regrets not learning more about something so important.

“I’ll be honest okay? I’m shit at helping people… and I probably should ask if you’re okay but that’s shit too because you clearly aren’t… so… do you wanna come over and watch movies with me and my younger step brother or something?”

He winces and hopes he didn’t mess up.

“You… may just be the craziest person I’ve ever met.” The man gushes, standing still, eyes comically wide. “Why are you— are  _ all  _ foreigners? Ah but the Americans too… you’re not American… accent is harsh on consonants… European? Well obviously, you’re white…” 

Viktor has never seen someone so hyperactive before, but he supposed that the adrenaline after being caught doing something so terrible must truly have a strange affect on your brain.

“Russian.” The man finally decides, causing Viktor to raise an eyebrow in question. “You… are from Russia? Or maybe you’re Czech… I struggle to tell the difference sometimes.” He admits sheepishly.

“No… no you were right — Russia.” He nods, swallowing. His eyes trail to the man’s shoes before eyeing the letter. So there’d been someone to write too, someone to leave behind. 

He feels a bit better about his sporadic decision now.

“Viktor. Viktor Nikiforov.” He introduced finally, a hand outward hesitantly.

“Yuuri. Katsuki Yuuri.” Katsuki replies.

Viktor’s eyes light up with recognition, mouth forming a small smile as they shake hands. “My younger brother is called Yuri too!” And a pause. “You’re… still welcome to join me tonight, Katsuki-san.”

The man blushes scarlet underneath the darkness of night. Fingers fiddling as his mouth forms incomplete sentences of protest. “I… thank you… I couldn’t though… I’m… busy?”

Viktor frowns at the insistence. 

“Well… I do admit I'm hurt that a cute boy such as yourself has turned me down. Not that we would have  _ done  _ anything!” He hastily adds. 

Was it even ethically alright to flirt with someone after meeting them as he had? 

Thankfully Yuuri had seemed to take the comment as a joke, offering his own, plastered smile in return. Somewhere deep inside Viktor ached for the facade he was forcing through.

“I really don’t want to be a burden.” He shakes his head, stepping aside as Viktor steps forwards. He doesn’t really register what he’s doing until he’s picking up the knife and throwing it across the alleyway and into the dumpster bin. 

It clatters to the bottom with a ruckus.

“Oh look, you’re not busy anymore.” Viktor says, someone petulantly. Yuuri’s mouth opens and closes like the koi fish in their pond. 

“Nikiforov-san… I really—“

“I am actually lost too.” Viktor decides to reveal, awkwardly smiling as he pulls out his phone. “The battery died and my younger brother was concerned… you could… help me find my way home and then cross that other bridge when we get there?”

Yuuri goes silent as he stares. “Okay.” He finally accepts, slowly bending to pick up his shoes. The letter, which is addressed to an Onsen by the judgement of name, is folded in half and slipped into Yuuri’s pants pocket, sticking out a little due to its size.

“Great! It’ll be like a small tour!” Viktor grins, knees bouncing as he waits for Yuuri to pull on his shoes. Once the laces are tied as he’s standing up, he offers a tentative smile in return as Viktor practically leeches himself onto his arm.

“Ah, alright Nikiforov-san… what’s your address?”

It hardly feels like the unthinkable had almost happened, or that Viktor had just done what he did. Sure, consequences to all actions occur, and perhaps he didn’t exactly foresee Yuri and Yuuri bonding over the stupidity of the movie’s Viktor liked, but fuck, was he glad to know he had made a difference.

It almost seems as if it had been nothing but a fever dream.

When a quarter smacks his face the next time Yuuri comes over, he laughs and saves it, becoming 25 American cents richer in happiness. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hmmm, do I feel a little better? Perhaps...
> 
> I'd originally planned on VIktor being a little more... well rehearsed in such matter but I personally don't believe he, or many people for that instance, would know what to do. That, and it's canon that Viktor isn't the best with trying emotions.
> 
> If I were in his shoes, I'm not sure myself what i'd do but anyways yeah...
> 
> Thank you for reading UwU (I promise my next story will be much happier!)


End file.
